


you really got a hold on me

by clayisforgirls



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Infidelity, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 16:48:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clayisforgirls/pseuds/clayisforgirls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There isn’t really much that he can say, because all the media training in the world can’t make <i>you’re a fucking idiot, don’t get married, get over yourself, stop rejecting me</i> sound better so he just sits in silence next to Kaner, and looks everywhere except for the <i>JT</i> that sits under his ear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you really got a hold on me

Buffalo’s disgustingly humid in the summer.

Chicago is too, but Buffalo feels a thousand times worse since it doesn’t have anything to offer beside Kaner’s mansion and getting wasted (which explains so much of his off seasons). It's the first week of August and if he wasn't blissfully abusing the air conditioning in Kaner’s truck, he'd be sweating his ass off with the rest of the guests who are probably already seated inside the church. They're probably wondering where the groom is, but the wedding doesn't start for another forty minutes and even though Jonny’s sure that being late to your own wedding isn't proper etiquette, he can't bring himself to care.

He hadn't even wanted to come. He'd said no at first, before Kaner had turned those stupid (beautiful) blue eyes on him and Jonny had given in to his demands. Which mostly consisted of him coming to the wedding and not hitting on any of Kaner’s sisters. Jonathan Toews would never be that stupid anyway, partly because he's certain that Kaner would actually kill him, but also it’d be pretty weird considering he's been sleeping with Kaner for the last ten years. He doesn't want his life to become an episode of _Friends_.

Kaner hadn't expressly forbidden dancing with his sisters, and Jonny figures that he’s going to get pretty wasted at the reception anyway, so it’s probably on the cards for later if only to see Kaner seethe with jealousy. But that's not his problem, and it's not like he has their initials tattooed onto his skin. He likes Kaner’s sisters; they’re all nicer than he is and love to tease Kaner almost as much as he does and really, it'd be a perfect fit in another life. He’s almost certain that if the letters on his wrist had read _EK_ or _JK_ that he’d be married to one of them right now. Donna’s always telling him that he'd be a perfect addition to their family, always looking pointedly between his wrist and Kaner’s neck, their letters adorning each other's skin but he's learned to laugh it off, following Kaner’s lead and telling the world that they're only soulmates on the ice.

Which is why he’s sitting in Kaner’s truck, feet on the dashboard while Kaner sits in silence next to him, his stupidly talented fingers rubbing the rim of his flask. Jonny doesn’t know what’s in it; just knows that every time Kaner takes a sip he grimaces like he’s been dared to drink one of Sharpy’s ridiculous concoctions again. He hasn’t seen that face in a while.

There isn’t really much that he can say, because all the media training in the world can’t make _you’re a fucking idiot, don’t get married, get over yourself, stop rejecting me_ sound better so he just sits in silence next to Kaner, and looks everywhere except for the _JT_ that sits under his ear.

“You want some?” Kaner asks, offering the flask to Jonny, and he pauses for a moment before reaching out to take it. Their fingers brush as it’s passed from one hand to the other, and Jonny feels the familiar crackles of electricity that sit under his skin. They’d been too young when they’d first met to feel it, the letters pale bruises on their skin at best, but by the time Patrick was drafted to the Blackhawks he’d been looking at those letters for more than a year, and he’d known that he’d needed to play in Chicago instead of going back to UND.

The media had them married from the first day they stepped on the ice together, long before they’d revealed their marks to the world, and he’d sometimes wondered if the Hawks had seen his letters and known that they’d belonged to Kaner. Or at least taken a shot by drafting him. Either way, they’d played beautiful hockey together at camp, and then Kaner had been shoving him into the nearest supply closet, a hand down Jonny’s pants before he could even think to protest.

Not that he would have protested, because from the first second they’d touched he’d felt the sparks; he’d licked into Kaner’s mouth and wanted to do it for the rest of his life, kissed him until both of their lips were red and swollen and raw. Kaner’s hand had been too rough against his skin, too dry, but Jonny had loved every single minute of it, even though it was objectively the worst sex he’d ever had.

But now they’re here, on Kaner’s wedding day; it’s ten years after that first, awful handjob in the closet and Kaner’s still unwilling to come out of it. Maybe they could never have had the future that Kaner wanted, the wife and the picket fence and the kids, but he'd never wanted _this_ to be their future. It feels like he's being ripped apart at the seams.

Jonny hesitantly takes a sip of the alcohol, because it even smells awful, _what the fuck Kaner_ , and promptly chokes on the sting as the liquid slides down his throat.

“This is _awful_ ,” he rasps, voice hoarse from the alcohol that's still fucking burning. “What the fuck is this?”

“Whatever was in the house,” Kaner answers with a shrug, which doesn't really answer his question but it definitely answers why it might be the worst thing he's ever had in his mouth. “Thought I might need the liquid courage.”

There are too many questions that Jonny wants to ask then, starting with _who says liquid courage anymore_ and ending with _why the fuck are you marrying her then_ , because he knows why Kaner’s drinking. It's the same reason that Jonny had accepted the flask, the swirling pit in his stomach that keeps telling him _wrong wrong wrong_. Jonny’s not stupid; he's seen the way that Kaner looks at him like he's the last bottle of Gatorade after a grueling game, but he's also seen the side of Kaner that won't even admit he's into guys, which is kind of a problem (and also kind of hypocritical when he's had a dick in his mouth, but that's not really the important part).

Wordlessly he passes the flask back, Kaner’s fingers sliding over his own purposefully, and he feels the shiver all the way to his toes. He watches Kaner drain the flask, the smooth lines of his throat captivating him until Kaner raises an eyebrow in lieu of words. He's left his mark on his throat before, mostly hickeys which Kaner hadn't been able to explain to their teammates, but now his skin is pale and unmarked and Jonny wants to rub his two day old stubble all over it. Maybe bite at the soft spot where his jaw meets his neck, so the world knows that Kaner belongs to him. It's a problem.

“You don't have to marry her,” he says instead, because wanting to suck on Kaner’s neck is only going to end one way, “there are other people out there.”

 _Like me_ , he doesn't say, but knows that Kaner will hear the underlying meaning.

“You know I don't date guys,” Kaner replies, and he's focused on picking at the leather seats, a fleck of invisible dust on his pants, the stillness of the world outside. Everywhere but Jonny.

“Oh, but it's fine to suck them off and have a dick in your ass?” he snipes back, but it's half hearted at best. He’s heard it all before from Kaner, his theory that hands and mouths are all the same but dating is different, and that he could only ever love a girl. It’s not worth arguing over any more, because no one ever wins except the liquor store down the street. “Sorry.”

The apology is automatic, ingrained into him with the polite Canadian upbringing that appears at the worst of times. He shouldn't be the one apologising.

“I'd marry you in a heartbeat if you had tits.”

It's the closest Kaner’s ever come to admitting that the _JT_ below his ear belongs to Jonny, at least seriously. They've played the hockey soulmates card for the media, Kaner better at it than Jonny, always there with a casual arm around his waist and a huge smile when all Jonny wants to do is drag him into the nearest shower and get down on his knees. Kaner's a better actor than most people give him credit for. But this is different, this is raw, and he can hear the honesty in Kaner’s voice. He's always known those letters are his, and maybe if Kaner pulled his head out of his ass they could be happy, the way they are after they've both come, sweaty and sated, instead of _this_.

He feels sick as he rubs at the _PK_ on his wrist, the mark that he knows belongs to Kaner.

“If I'd known that, I'd have spent the five grand already,” he replies, and Kaner bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges, dimples on view for the world to see. Jonny thinks _I did that_ and then banishes that thought, because he is not the female lead in a romantic comedy. He's just in love with an asshole that won't deal with his own sexuality. One that's rejecting their relationship in favor of what looks like the perfect life, but he's knows that Kaner will be at his door in Chicago before he's even had time to settle back in, and well, he's never been good at saying no to Patrick Kane.

“That's not what I meant fuckface, and that image is now going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

“You know I’d make a hot girl,” he says after the laughter has died down, but it sets Kaner off again, gasping for breath around his giggles because they both know that Jonny would not make a hot girl. Kaner, maybe, but Jonny’s all hard lines and angles and thighs that barely fit in jeans as it is, let alone his ass.

“Your ass would look great in a skirt,” Kaner agrees, almost as though he’s reading Jonny’s mind. It wouldn’t be the first time they’d been on the same wavelength, although it usually manifests when they’re on the ice together, passing the puck from stick to stick without even having to look at the other. They’d been chirped about the creepy as fuck mindreading, but it was easy to shrug off after they’d won their first cup, and then two more.

They lapse into silence, because it's not like Jonny has a reply to that which doesn't involve telling Kaner that his ass would look much better out of a skirt. Ideally with Kaner’s tongue between his cheeks, because his stupid oral fixation proved to be good for something. Even right now he's got his lower lip caught between his teeth, bitten red, and Jonny wants to kiss it, pull it between his own teeth until Kaner’s moaning into his mouth.

Instead he bites his own lip, trying to focus on anything that isn’t Patrick Kane sitting less than a foot away from him, but then Kaner's sliding across the seat. He leans into Jonny’s space like he belongs there, and then there's a hand cupping the back of his neck, a mouth sliding over his jaw before Jonny parts his lips and they're kissing. The _wrong_ feeling in his stomach settles, his skin humming with electricity as Kaner winds a hand into his hair. He’d let it grow out over the summer and he’s so fucking glad now, because Kaner’s tugging on it a little, flicking his tongue over Jonny’s lower lip and he can't focus on anything except the waves of pleasure that are rolling through him. There isn’t much else to do except kiss Kaner back, their mouths finding an easy rhythm, Jonny’s hand curling around Kaner’s knee.

There’s never been anyone else like this for Jonny; he’s slept with others, kissed a few more, but it always comes back to Kaner in the end. It doesn’t matter whether they’re kissing or fucking or playing hockey; he's always had tunnel vision for Kaner and everyone else has slotted in after that. He needs Kaner like most people need oxygen and when Kaner’s pliant in his hands, making these pitiful sounds into his mouth, it’s the only time he feels that he can really breathe. It’s why he’s never been able to give this up.

“Jonny,” Kaner mumbles as he climbs into his lap, strong thighs straddling his own, “god, Jonny, _fuck_.”

He sounds wrecked, which is pretty much how Jonny feels, the need to be closer to Kaner, to be inside Kaner overwhelming and he pulls Kaner flush against his chest; his arm winds around Kaner’s waist, pinning him in place and he feels Kaner smiling against his lips, the soft curve against the corner of his mouth.

Kaner’s fingers move from his hair to the collar of his shirt, calloused fingers trailing over sensitive skin before they dip below cotton to stroke over his collarbone. He's about to protest because he still has to look presentable but he replaces his fingers with his mouth, pressing feather light kisses into all of the spots he loves the best. Kaner’s dick is a hard line pressing against his stomach, and he’s not much better, and he wants. He _wants_ , arching his hips as much as he can, and then Kaner’s trying to undo his pants one handed, and-

And then he’s pushing Kaner away, a hand firmly planted on his chest, trying to put space between them. Kaner’s wide eyed, confused, and he looks like he’s been mauled. His hair’s a disaster, although that’s just an everyday thing for Patrick Kane, but he looks thoroughly kissed, lips swollen and red, the flush of arousal dotting his pale skin.

“Jonny-“ he starts, voice cracking and he sounds desperate, like he needs Jonny in the same way that Jonny needs him, and Jonny cuts him off, pressing a thumb to his lips.

“We can't,” Jonny gasps as Kaner’s tongue darts out to lick his thumb before he sucks it into his mouth, and _fuck_. He’s halfway to telling Kaner to drive them to the nearest hotel but it wouldn’t fix anything right now, except their erections, and he swallows his words. “Not here. Not now.”

Kaner nods like he understands, but he doesn’t move from Jonny’s lap. Jonny’s kind of okay with that, because he can still touch for a while longer, still press his fingers into the smooth muscle he can feel beneath Kaner’s shirt. The electricity between them has settled into a warm hum of contentment now, but the need to be closer is still pressing at him, and he tangles his fingers with Kaner’s, rubbing across the back of Kaner’s hand with his thumb.

It's not meant to lead to them kissing again but it does anyway; Kaner squirming on his lap he pulls the blonde ever closer, his hand clutching Kaner’s hip hard enough to leave bruises. He doesn't understand how Kaner can deny this; he can taste the desperation as their teeth clash, feel the adrenaline rush as Kaner’s tongue rubs against his own, because they both want to win here just as much as they do at hockey, but they've always been better together than they are apart. He's never asked Kaner if he's like this with Jenny, because he's never wanted to know the answer but now maybe he does, because this? This can't be wrong, not when the slide of Kaner’s lips against his own feels so right, when the hand that's cupping his jaw fits so perfectly.

Someone moans, and he thinks it's him from the way that Kaner’s grinning, but he doesn't care, just wants Kaner to keep kissing him, maybe forever, and-

And then a phone is ringing, interrupting their almost silent cocoon, and Kaner groans before he slides across the seat, away from Jonny, fiddling with it before the noise suddenly stops.

“Ten minutes,” he says, and he’s back to not looking at Jonny, his phone seemingly the most interesting thing in the world, thumbing mindlessly over the screen.

 _Ten minutes until he needs to be inside_ , Jonny realises after a second, and his stomach drops, the wrong feeling from earlier returning but he can't reach out and touch Kaner because they're just going to end up kissing again. He's hard still, and a quick look at Kaner reveals he's no better off, and if they want any chance of being presentable he needs to stay on his side of the truck.

At least Kaner had the foresight to even set an alarm, because Jonny would have been happy to stay underneath Kaner all day, happy to taste his mouth for as long as Kaner would let him.

Eventually Kaner turns the engine to the truck off, the sun blazing through the windows. The air’s stifling now, thick and heavy, and Jonny doesn't think it's going to be any better outside of the truck but at least then he'd put some space between them, and he's out of the cab before he realizes what he's doing. He's right about the sticky heat of Buffalo; it's clinging, almost suffocating, but he isn't sure whether that's from the humidity of dragging himself away from Kaner. He's struggling to breathe in the thick air; it’s sticking in his throat, and he’s trying to remember everything he learned in yoga, but his brain’s stuck on a loop of _want_ , and there’s no room for anything else.

“Breathe,” Kaner says, his lips trailing over his earlobe, his hands clenched by Jonny’s sides, brushing over the thin fabric at his waist. Jonny blinks, focusing on the soft blue eyes in front of him as Kaner’s knuckles drag over the back of Jonny’s hands, and he feels Kaner’s fist clench as he does it, like he’s trying not to lace their fingers together again. He doesn’t know how Kaner got out here so fast, but he doesn’t care, because it’s easier to breathe when Kaner’s pressed against him, the rise and fall of their chests in sync.

It's easy to let Kaner press kisses against the corner of his mouth, his fingers following as he maps a pathway across the imperfections that litter the skin on his jaw.

“It’s always been you,” Kaner mumbles, and the only reason he can hear it is that Kaner’s lips are still pressed against his neck, “fucking always.”

“I know,” he replies, because there’s nothing else to say. He's wanted to hear that from Kaner for years, wanted him to admit that thing thing between them isn't all in Jonny's head, but he’d never have thought the words would make him feel as hollow as they do right now.

Kaner’s fingers are rough against his skin, but he doesn’t resist as Kaner tilts his head and kisses him again, soft and slow and everything that they’ve never been. Jonny doesn’t know what to think of it; it feels like _goodbye_ , except he knows that Kaner can’t keep out of his bed more than he can keep out of Kaner’s, but then the weight against his front is gone, and when he opens his eyes all he can see is Kaner’s back, walking towards the rest of his life like there’s nothing else he’s ever wanted more.

With every step it he doesn’t take it feels like he’s being ripped apart, and eventually there’s nothing more he can do than follow Kaner across the grass.

**Author's Note:**

> This was 100% inspired by the She & Him version of "You Really Got a Hold on Me".


End file.
